


Sensible Shoes

by Isilien_Elenihin



Series: Smith and Tyler [2]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, M/M, Pete's World Torchwood, Smith and Tyler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 13:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1388767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isilien_Elenihin/pseuds/Isilien_Elenihin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Nothing you recognize belongs to me!</p></blockquote>





	1. It's my Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing you recognize belongs to me!

It was evening at the Tyler Mansion (well, it was evening for the entire North-Western hemisphere). The Doctor stood with his hands in the pockets of his tuxedo waiting for Rose to finish getting dressed. He heard Jackie giving Tony's baby sitter last minute instructions from beyond the door to Rose's rooms–their rooms, he corrected himself.

"Rose, you're Mum's getting anxious," he called.

"Be out in a minute!" she responded.

"That's what you said ten minutes ago," he grumbled under his breath.

"I heard that!" she snapped back from the bathroom. He grinned and turned his attention to their rooms. It had been a month since Darlig Ulf Strandon, and roughly two weeks since the sickness subsided. The rooms looked better than they had when he first saw them–more lived in. He ran his hand over the single picture frame that sat on top of the vanity. Jackie had snapped it sometime after Rose recovered, sometime when neither of them had been looking. They were walking by the pond. It was one of Rose's favorite places, somewhere she came to think–to breathe. She said the willow trees were peaceful and she loved to watch the ducklings in the spring time. They were holding hands, standing by the water's edge. She had turned to look at him and smiled one of her best Rose-smiles, her tongue caught between her teeth. He was smiling back.

"How do I look?"

He raised his eyes from the picture frame and his jaw dropped. Her hair was swept up in an elegant bun and held in place with clips of jet that sparkled darkly against the golden strands. The dress was black and silky and clung to her when she moved. Although it was sleeveless she wore long black gloves that reached almost to her shoulders. A belt of gold and black hung low on her waist and accented her hips. She wore only the barest hint of makeup, just enough to keep her from looking washed out against the dress. He wouldn't have put her in black–it seemed harsh, but with the gold she glowed against it, a reversed night sky.

"Blimey." It was hard to speak.

She twirled and gave him a look. "What?"

"You're beautiful." He meant it.

She eyed him up and down. "You're not so bad yourself." Her eyes flickered down to his feet again. "Trainers? We're going to a party, and you're wearing trainers?"

He grinned. "Rose Tyler, you know better than most that you should never leave home without sensible shoes." He leaned in close to whisper in her ear. "Never know when you'll need to run."

She lifted the hem of her gown and showed off her own footwear–a pair of sparkling gold ballerina flats. "Don't I know it."

"Are you two ready yet?" Jackie demanded from behind the door. "The car's here!"

"Coming Mum!" Rose replied and rolled her eyes.

"Remind me again what we're doing?" the Doctor asked as he followed Rose to the foyer.

"It's a party, it's for charity," Rose replied patiently with the attitude of someone who had done so many times. "And it'll get the photographers to leave us alone."

"How, exactly?" He sounded doubtful.

"You give them what they want. I know it seems backwards, but you," she kissed him on the cheek, "are an unknown, and it's driving them mad trying to get a glimpse of you. This way they get the authorized story. Just be yourself–charming, charismatic, and normal. For the love of god try to have a normal conversation."

"I can be normal," the Doctor sounded offended, "although why anyone would want to is beyond me."

She chuckled. "Just don't mention aliens. If they think you're a nutter they'll never stop."

___________________________________

It took the Doctor less than thirty minutes to establish that, as he suspected, he was the most intelligent person at the party. It wasn't particularly impressive, considering the guests in attendance. Oh, there were cabinet members and MP's circulating through the room as well as the rich and famous, but they were only human, and he was something else entirely. Almost entirely. Ninety-four percent entirely. Close enough. He selected two flutes of champagne from the proffered tray and turned back to where he left Rose. She was conversing with an older man and his wife. The Doctor paused for a moment. She was so different. Good different, he amended. There was something in the way she held herself that spoke of her change–he wanted to dislike everything Torchwood, but he couldn't deny that her confidence came from her experiences at the institute. She spoke with authority and people listened. The potential had always been there, he realized. She reached out to people, she genuinely cared and that made her a good leader. She could motivate them, keep them working under pressure. When they were separated on Krop Tor she had kept the others together, had gotten them working on a way to escape.

"You must be Doctor John Smith." A familiar voice broke through his reverie.

He blinked and turned to face Harriet Jones. She smiled at him. "Madame President," he said and inclined his head. He was on his guard instantly, but a twinge of guilt followed. He liked her, originally, back before she let Torchwood blow up the Sycorax and committed mass murder. She was intelligent and brave. She cared about this country, about the world. She sacrificed her life to contact him. He might as well have killed her.

"I have been told that you managed to find the cure for that mysterious plague." Her tone indicated that she was well aware of the cause.

"Yes," he replied. "I did." It was a statement of fact, not arrogance. "I'm very good."

She laughed. "I believe you are. And here with Ms. Tyler, if I'm not mistaken?" She cast a shrewd, appraising look over him. He nodded. "A most remarkable woman," Harriet Jones continued, "in many ways."

"You don't know the half of it."

"And she chose you." Harriet Jones cocked her head and smiled at the Doctor. "Which says something about you, Dr. Smith."

"Oh?"

"You must be quite a remarkable man." Someone called to her from across the room. "I look forward to working with you," she said by way of farewell, and was lost in the crowd. He watched her go for a moment. Harriet Jones. In any reality she was interesting. He turned back to bring the champagne, as directed, to Rose when someone ran–rather rudely–into him.

"Oi!" he exclaimed. He managed to avoid spilling the champagne down the front of his tuxedo and glared with a great deal of irritation at the waiter who had caused the incident.

The other man looked back at him, face strangely blank. "Forgive me, sir. I didn't see you there."

"Just watch where you're going, yeah?" the Doctor grumbled.

"Of course, sir. Let me get you more champagne."

The Doctor deposited the two now-empty glasses with the waiter and frowned. The air tasted–off. Bitter. Alien. And then it was gone. He cast his eyes around the room, searching. There were several Torchwood agents–field, medical, and tech, in attendance. It could have been something left over, a bit of Alien they'd missed washing up. It had been faint, just a trace.

"Your glasses, sir." The waiter was back. He handed the Doctor the champagne and for a moment, just a moment, their hands touched. Goose pimples raced up the Doctor's arm, following the chill of something decidedly Alien. It radiated out from the waiter. The Doctor raised an eyebrow and moved to stop him, but the man, or whatever it was, was gone–faded into the crowd. The Doctor made a face and returned to Rose. They sipped the champagne and made small-talk with her companions. It was the usual: what do you do, where did you go to school, where did you meet–boring questions for which they had convenient lies.

"Fancy a dance?" the Doctor asked after the elderly man and his wife left.

Rose grinned. "With you?"

The Doctor looked hurt. "Yes with me!"

"I don't think swing will go over too well," Rose pointed out.

"Oh ye of little faith." The Doctor made an attempt to sound put-upon before he pulled Rose into a waltz. "Fascinating dance, the waltz," he murmured as they moved around the dance floor. "Invented in the 19th century. It was the first time men and women danced exclusively as a couple. Oh, there were earlier dances when they'd pair off for a while, but never in a face-to-face hold, and never for an entire song."

"Scandalous," she replied quietly, still grinning.

"At the time," he agreed. "It's a very intimate dance, although I suppose by current standards it's old and frumpy."

She smiled. "Something posh people do at fancy parties?"

"Something like that." He was going to smile when he noticed the waiter standing just beyond the dance floor. A familiar bitter taste filled his mouth.

Rose looked at him expectantly. "Your spidey senses tingling?"

"My–? Comparing my amazing Time Lord senses to a human who was bitten by a radioactive spider–which was impossible by the way, is not only inaccurate, it's insulting." He pouted. He was adorable when he pouted.

She sighed. "Fine. Are your 'amazing Time Lord senses' tingling?"

"Yep." He popped the 'p' and swung her into a back-breaking dip. "That fellow there."

"The waiter?" she asked after he pulled her vertical again.

"The waiter," he confirmed. "Like I always say, if you want to know what's going on–"

"Work in the kitchens. I remember." She glanced back at where the strange man had been standing a moment ago, but he had vanished again. "Can't take you anywhere, can I?" she asked with mock irritation.

He grinned. "Nope. Trouble is my middle name."

"John Trouble Smith?"

"That's _Doctor_ John Trouble Smith to you." He made a face. "All right, that sounds horrible; I'm never saying it again. Happy?"

She laid her face against his chest as they continued in the measured steps of the dance. "Yes," she murmured into his jacket. He smiled.

___________________________________

They were quiet on the ride home, home still being the Tyler mansion. The Doctor knew that Rose loved her family and that she enjoyed having them close, but they really needed a place of their own. He got on well with Pete, and even Tony, but living under the same roof as Jackie was going to drive him to an early grave.

Two phones rang. Pete and Rose pulled them out–his from his pocket, hers from her tiny purse, and how did she fit anything in there? It wasn't bigger on the inside, why even bother carrying it? They flipped the phones open and had almost identical conversations.

"Hello…Yes…When?...Are you sure?"

Rose glanced at him. "He's here…of course not. I'll fill him in."

The Doctor waited somewhat impatiently for the two of them to finish. "What's going on?" he asked when they put the phones away.

"You would know," Rose said severely, "if you bothered to carry your phone with you."

He shrugged. "It makes my pockets sit funny."

She rolled her eyes. "The phone doesn't do you any good if it's not with you! I can't exactly send you a message via psychic paper, now can I?"

Mentally he added psychic paper to the list of things he would build, right under sonic screwdriver and pockets that were bigger on the inside. And a device to grow the TARDIS. The little fragment of coral was sitting on the vanity in their bedroom.

"Are you listening to me?" Rose's voice brought him back to the present.

"I always listen to you." He sounded hurt. "Except when I don't," he amended when she glared at him. "So what was that about?"

"Torchwood picked up some strange energy spikes," Pete replied. "It's a kind of energy we've never seen before."

The Doctor perked up. Rose grinned at him. "And who knows, it might be linked to that waiter." Pete raised an eyebrow. "There was this waiter at the party," Rose explained. "The Doctor thinks he's alien.

"Not think, Rose. I know he was alien." The Doctor looked smug. "Can't fool me, even in a human shape. He felt distinctly alien and he was radiating a sort of energy. Doesn't take a genius to put the two together." He paused. "Or maybe it does."

Rose poked his chest. "You're getting a big head."

The Doctor smoothed his hair. "Good," he replied absently, "I need a bigger head. More space!"

"I don't know which one of you is madder," Jackie commented, looking from Rose to the Doctor.

"Oh, me without a doubt," the Doctor replied. "What's that they say about genius and insanity?"

"There's a thin line between the two," Rose supplied.

"Think you're a bit south of the line," Jackie muttered.

"Anyway," Pete cut in, trying to bring the conversation back on track. "We'll find out more tomorrow."

___________________________________

Rose tapped her toes impatiently as she leaned against the door to the rest of the Tyler house. She crossed her arms and checked her watch again.

"Oi!" she called out to the Doctor. "You're worse than a girl!"

"I am not!" his muffled response came from the bathroom.

"You've been in there for fifteen minutes, post-shower! It doesn't even take me that long to get ready and I've got more hair!" She loved teasing him. Both of his regenerations were smart-asses and it was only fair that she was as well. And he would always be a smart-ass. No more changing his face and changing himself. No more having to re-learn how he liked his tea and what foods he would eat, when she could get him to eat. No more coming back from the dead. One life. "I've only got one life, Rose Tyler. I could spend it with you, if you want."

"Well don't just stand there!" He bounded up to her, chin and cheeks smooth, hair perfect, eyes bright and tie in place. "We're going to be late!"

"We're going to be late because you took forever primping," she reminds him. As he does with everything he disagrees with or dislikes or just doesn't feel like dealing with, he ignores her.

"Where's Pete?"

"Gone already. He went in early today; 's just the two of us."

"Must be bad if they're calling in the Director," the Doctor mused.

Rose shrugged. "Won't know until we get there. If we get there, because at this rate it'll be noon before we do!"

___________________________________

They managed to arrive before lunch time, although they were ten minutes later than usual.

"That little bit of human," the Doctor explained, "is trying to throw my internal clock off, apparently by ten minutes."

Rose snorted. "Yeah." She flashed her I.D. at the young woman who had taken Alex's place behind the information desk at Canary Warf. The woman glanced at her and the Doctor and nodded them through. Rose felt a momentary pang as she remembered Alex's funeral. So many people died from that miserable illness. Not only field agents, but support personnel, people who hadn't exactly signed up for the same dangers that she and her team had. They rode the elevator in silence.

Florence was at her desk. She smiled at the two of them as they exited the elevator.

"Commander Tyler, Doctor Smith," she said by way of greeting.

"Just the Doctor," he interjected and smiled at her absently. Rose could almost see the wheels in his head turning as he pondered the events of the night before. Florence raised an eyebrow but didn't question him.

Rose led them through the white-washed corridors to a large meeting room. A large screen took up most of the wall opposite the door. Chairs lined the other two walls, and a desk took up most of one corner. Toshiko Santo sat behind the desk manipulating a computer. The Torchwood seal vanished from the large screen and a map took its place. It was of London and the surrounding countryside. A glowing red dot hovered over a portion of the screen, and below the map a bar graph charted the flow of, something. Pete was talking quietly with Jake and Dominic. Martha stood on the fringe, listening but not exactly part of the group. She looked more at ease than she had at the funerals, but not completely settled.

Rose nodded a greeting to Toshiko, who gave her a small smile. Dominic glanced in their direction and said something to Pete, who looked up.

"Good. You're here and we can begin. Toshiko?"

"Over the past five days we've been picking up energy signatures that have no business being where they are," the woman began. "Originally they were small, almost negligent. Recently, though, they have been increasing in size and duration." The bar-graph took center stage. "Last night was the largest and longest spike we have recorded so far."

"What kind of energy is it?" the Doctor inquired.

Toshiko shook her head. "We don't know."

"But you can detect it," he pointed out.

"This technology was salvaged from a ship that crashed here three years ago," she admitted. "We aren't completely familiar with all of its workings yet. We managed to track the signatures to this location." She pulled up the map on the screen again.

"Where is it? What is it?" It was Pete's turn to ask the questions.

"It appears to be a spa."

"A spa." He did not sound convinced.

Toshiko nodded, tapped a few keys on the keyboard, and images of a posh, gated spa danced across the screen. "It was constructed last year and has earned a reputation as a haven for the rich and influential." She pulled up the client list. Rose recognized several of the names; some were politicians, some were intellectuals, some were corporate heads, some were simply blessed with an overabundance of inheritance. All were important players in national and international relations.

"So," she said slowly. "What we need right now, is more information."

Pete glanced at her suspiciously, but nodded. "We need an insider's perspective. Maybe we can get someone a position, have them case the place out a bit."

Rose grinned. "I don't think that's necessary."

"You don't?" He was sure that she was up to something.

"Nope." She popped the 'p.' "The Doctor and I can do it."

"What?" her father and the Doctor asked at the same time.

"We've got made-to-order cover," she pointed out. "Rose Tyler–Vitex heiress and her new beau, Doctor John Smith, on a lover's holiday. No one expects me to be anything other than a spoiled little rich girl. They won't know what hit them."

Pete still looked doubtful, but the Doctor seemed to be enthusiastic. "Undercover again!" He grinned at her. She grinned back.

"As long as I don't have to be a dinner lady!" They both laughed. "But seriously, a spa. I've crawled through the sewers, through the bowels of wrecked space-ships, been dragged through forests and deserts and rivers and lakes. It's about time we investigated something cushy."

"No way around it," Pete concluded. "Your mother's going to kill me."

Rose smiled, her tongue stuck between her teeth. "I won't tell if you won't."


	2. It's my Party

Peter Alan Tyler did not look happy. He watched Rose and the Doctor with more than a hint of disapproval as they strode into his office. They were holding hands, of course. Trying to get the two of them apart for any length of time was almost impossible, and when they were in the same room they were always touching. It wasn't fawning or excessive displays of public affection; instead it seemed to be a kind of magnetism that drew them together unconsciously and inevitably. Rose giggled. He was unfamiliar with the sound. In the six years–six, not the three that she told Jackie and the rest of the world–he had seen her smile on a handful of occasions and laugh less. She seemed happy, now that her Doctor was with them. The circumstances of his arrival were problematic and very confusing, but nothing about that man was ever simple or easy. Even after Lumic, when he had first met his parallel daughter and the alien she traveled with, he hadn't believed what Mickey told him. Traveling in time and space, entire galaxies as of yet undiscovered by humans. He began to believe when Rose arrived, when the Doctor sent her away and she refused to remain. Drawing her out of her shell had been difficult, but she spoke to him about the Doctor far more than to Jackie. He could empathize with her. Although he and his original wife hadn't been happy at the end, he had loved her. Getting over her loss was torturous. Finding a different version of her was something he had never hoped to dream about, and this Jackie was different. She was a fighter. She didn't care about appearances or manipulations. She loved her daughter, she missed her husband. And he could give her the life that the other him could only have dreamt of. Second chances of that magnitude were few and far between, if they ever came at all.

His expression softened as his thoughts turned to his wife and Tony. He thought of Rose as his daughter, but she had been in her original universe growing up. His son was something else. His whole family, he realized, was a miracle. He could feel Rose, the Doctor, and Toshiko looking at him and he schooled his expression into one of wary acceptance.

"You're sure, then," he asked them. "There's nothing I can say to make you reconsider?"

Rose made a face. "I've been in far more dangerous places than this," she pointed out.

He sighed. "I know, but try telling your mother that."

"I'll leave that to you. She won't listen to me."

The Doctor held up his hands. "Not me, Pete. I'm not looking for another slap."

Toshiko held out two devices that looked like flip-phones. "These will track the energy signatures, and these," she handed Rose a barrette with a flower on the end, and the Doctor a tie clip, "will pick up life signs, video, and audio. Wear them as much as you can. We'll be monitoring from here." She smiled shyly at the two of them. "Good luck."

Rose gave her a quick hug. "Thanks Tosh. We'll be back in a jiffy!" Rose hugged Pete and the Doctor shook hands with Pete and Toshiko before they headed out to the waiting car.

___________________________________

The car wasn't a limousine, but it was distinctly on the posh side, the Doctor decided as they rode to the spa. "What's it called again?" he asked Rose, who was staring out the window.

"What? Oh." Her eyes flickered down to the flyer on her lap. "Serenity."

He frowned and squeezed her hand. It lay loosely on his, their fingers threaded together. "What's wrong?"

She smiled and shook her head slightly. "S nothing. Just thinking."

"You shouldn't do that," he replied seriously.

"Oh really?" She smiled again, a real smile this time.

"Yes," he said as he leaned closer. "It stops all sorts of interesting things from happening."

Her eyes moved from his to his lips and back again. "Is that why you babble so much?"

"Oi!" he responded with indignation. "I do not babble. I'm a wellspring of knowledge, me. There's a difference."

"Mmm," she replied, and kissed him. As methods of getting him to shut up went, it was extremely effective, and rather enjoyable.

___________________________________

The Doctor ran a hand through is hair, trying to mat the unruly strands into a semblance of order. He was moderately successful. Next to him, Rose checked her own hair and makeup.

"Look at what you did," he accused.

She raised an eyebrow. "You weren't complaining earlier."

He grinned. "Of course not! I didn't have enough time. No respiratory bypass." He made a face. "It's hard enough kissing and breathing, now you want to add talking to the mix?"

She giggled, and then her eyes widened as she caught site of their destination through the car window. The driver paused at the gate and spoke into the security speaker. The gates opened. Serenity was a huge stone house, probably originally a manor house for some wealthy Lord. It sat atop a hill and was surrounded by gardens. The driveway leading up to the building wound up the hill, giving clients a view of the grounds. They were well-kept and tidy, not quiet formal, but clearly designed and maintained with care. The building itself had three wings and with another fence as one side formed a box surrounding a cobblestone courtyard. White and pink roses threaded through the fence and scaled one of the corresponding wings.

This was why he traveled with them–people, that is. She was different: all grown-up and a little world-weary but he could still see a bit of who she used to be–Rose Tyler who grew up on the Powell Estate peeking out from behind Rose Tyler the temporal and galactic traveler and Commander Tyler of the Torchwood Institute. It was beautiful and amazing and fantastic to see the world reflected through her eyes.

The building wasn't terribly impressive, not to him anyway. He'd seen dozens like it, maybe hundreds, and that was on Earth alone. He said as much when they reached their room–suite, he amended.

"There was this planet I went to with Donna, called Midnight," he remarked after the footman set their bags in the bedroom and left with a tip. "Whole planet made of diamond, and she wanted to stay at the hotel. Needed time to relax, she said." He rolled his eyes to cover the flash of guilt. It was sudden and sharp and he should have expected it.

Rose was busy studying their rooms. They were on the second floor, from the looks of the hallways and the brief map enclosed in the brochure most of the guests were housed in the top two floors with the first reserved for treatments and restaurants. The bedroom was much larger than their room at Pete and Jackie's. A four-poster bed sat solidly in the middle of the wall opposite a pair of French doors that appeared to open onto a balcony. The dark wood of the bed frame stood out against the pale gray of the walls and the gauzy white curtains that hung from the posts. Water trickled down one plastic-covered wall and spilled into a pool that stretched almost from wall-to-wall across the room. The sitting room was smaller, and still in the theme of gray and blue and white: gray walls and blue accents and white couches and a dark wood table. They had their own bathroom, which was nice, but he expected no less from a place that gave its guests their own pool.

He pulled his mind away from cataloging its surroundings and realized that Rose was no longer in the room. The French doors, he realized, did in fact open onto a balcony. It was stone, the same stone as the building, and Rose stood looking out over the grounds underneath a canopy of the flowers that shared her name. They climbed up a trellis and formed a leafy ceiling.

"It's beautiful," she said as he stepped out onto the balcony and closed the glass door.

"Middling," he replied. "Bet you've been to loads of places like this since you got here."

She shook her head. "Never time." She paused. "Never wanted to," she continued, her voice softer.

"Too busy saving the world?" He kept his tone light even as his eyes searched her, noting the hit of tension in her shoulders, in the way she kept herself from leaning against the stone wall.

"Yeah." Too busy trying to get back. She didn't say it, but she didn't need to.

"Well then!" He grabbed her hand and she looked at him over her shoulder. "We'd best enjoy the time we have."

"I thought we were here on business," she pointed out, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

"And a very good friend told me on several occasions that mixing business with pleasure is not only advisable, but mandatory." There were other things that Jack said, but this was the right one. He knew when she grinned at him, when her shoulders relaxed and she looked like she could breathe again.

___________________________________

 

They decided to forgo the restaurant below and ordered room service. Tomorrow they would scour the place, discreetly, of course, under the guise of guests. Tonight was theirs. The Doctor searched their rooms with the device Tosh gave them while Rose finished eating. It was some sort of pasta dish. The name was Italian, according to the Doctor, who apparently had mastered a great many languages without the help of the TARDIS. She had no such luck, but she had six years to get used to not understanding people.

Whatever the pasta dish was called, she decided, it was delicious. She watched him as he returned. "Any luck?"

He shook his head. "I'm getting background signatures, but nothing strong enough to indicate that the energy source is on this floor."

"If they're using it as a treatment it would be on the first floor," she pointed out.

He sprawled on the floor next to her. "No way around it, then." He made a face.

She giggled. "What, afraid of losing your man card?"

He looked confused. "What's a man card?"

"It's–" she began, and then stopped. "It's hard to explain. I guess it means you're afraid of blokes seeing you at a spa."

He snorted. "I am not."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah," she said and it was clear she didn't believe him at all.

"Where are you off to?" he asked as she threw out the takeaway container and moved to their bags.

"Fancy a swim?"

___________________________________

 

As tempting as testing out the pool with Rose was, he decided against it. Swimming meant swimsuits meant very little clothing at all, and he wasn't sure if the strength of his reaction to her came from the human parts of his new body or if it had been there all along. He wasn't sure if he was quite ready for the next step, and he knew that she wasn't. Physical intimacy before being intimate with each other was unwise, but he wanted it. He'd been holding back for years, what was another few months? It was torture, that's what. But he'd endured worse and he wasn't about to ruin his chance with her for the sake of a shag.

She was beautiful, but he'd known that for a long time, ever since Cardiff in 1869. Still, the sight of her in a bikini did things to him that almost frightened him in their intensity. So much of him was wrapped up in this girl. He stood by the edge of the pool and watched as she sat down on the rim and slid herself into the water. She moved with a grace with which he was becoming familiar, a grace she hadn't quite possessed before. She hummed with pleasure and he crouched by the water. She was swimming on her back; her hair spread out behind her like a wave of gold. Her face relaxed into a smile and he found himself mirroring her expression. She opened her eyes as if she could feel his gaze on her and cocked her head to the side. He waved for her to continue. She moved over to the edge, no longer on her back, reached up to cradle his face in her wet hands, and kissed him. Then she grabbed his suit jacket lapels and pulled.

The water was warm and the chlorine burned his nose and his throat and his suit was sodden and restricting and they were a jumble of flailing limbs churning the water. He broke the surface with a gasp. She was already out of his reach, skirting the opposite edge of the pool. He blinked, clearing the chemical-laden water from his eyes.

"You. Cheeky. Monkey." He sputtered.

She grinned. "Whatcha gonna do about it?" The challenge was explicit. He took it.

The pool was small and he was an excellent swimmer. He caught her, cornered her against the edge. Her expression shifted. Her smile deepened, her eyes closed. He threaded his wet hands through her wet hair and kissed her for all he was worth. His suit jacket was gone, thrown up on the cool ceramic tiles surrounding the pool. His shirt was damp and uncomfortable and his pants were probably ruined but he didn't care. Clothes were replaceable, this moment was not. Her arms were around his neck, clinging for dear life. The warm water held them. He could taste the chlorine on her lips and he could feel her heartbeat and this is what his people sacrificed.

They were fools. The thought was sharp and sudden and familiar. It had come to him many times before and after…well. They stripped away emotions and kept themselves separate, so afraid of contamination. If they could see him now they'd exile him for sure, if they didn't determine him to be an abomination and destroy him themselves. He didn't care. Knowledge without compassion was not wisdom. Justice without mercy was oppression. A life without love was not living. There was darkness in humanity, he knew. He had seen it thousands of times, maybe millions, but there was so much more light.

She pulled away first. Her eyes flickered from his own to his lips and back and she took a deep breath as she continued to hold him, but more loosely than before. "Tell me about Martha," she said suddenly.

He blinked. "What?"

"Tell me about Martha," she repeated.

He was still confused. "What do you want to know?"

She considered, her eyes fixed on the glass doors and the balcony beyond. "How did you meet?"

"At a hospital." She looked at him. "It was transplanted on the moon," he clarified.

They were silent for a while, his words and her thoughts hung between them. He reached a hand behind his head and scratched his ear. "I don't really know what you're looking for," he said finally. "I don't usually talk about my companions."

"She knew who I was," Rose pointed out quickly. "You talked about me."

"You're different," he replied.

"But not different enough to matter," she snapped back.

"Rose," he started, but she cut him off.

"I can't do this, Doctor. I can't go back to not asking." She pulled away from him, seeming to fall into herself. "On the beach–you said those words. And you can't go back from that. We can't go back. And I don't want to."

"You haven't been exactly forthcoming yourself," he pointed out, his irritation getting the better of him. Arguing about his companions was not how he envisioned spending their time together. She bit her lip and refused to look at him. "Six years, Rose. You've been gone for six years and I don't know anything about what happened during that time because you won't tell me. Any time I get close to asking you change the subject or you close off."

"It's not important. Forget I said anything." She moved to leave the pool but he reached out a hand and touched her shoulder.

_The world was smoke and a noise like thunder but not. Screams and gasps and gurgled last breaths hung all around him and he was her and she had something cool and metallic and heavy in her hand. She raised her arm, one hand around the gun's handle and one finger on the trigger and her other arm bracing. She aimed at the boy in front of her–sixteen or seventeen he/she guessed and the world slowed as she pulled the trigger._

The weight of the weapon was comforting and familiar and it was warm now, warm from body heat. It dug into his/her back when she replaced it in the rigged holster but she let it. It reminded her she was alive, that this was real. It felt real but she couldn't be sure because real life felt like a dream. Blood flecked her clothing and her face and she could feel it dripping–arterial spray. Warm like her gun from the heat of a body, a body that was no longer a person.

*A door, once opened, may be stepped through in either direction.

_She was smart and brave and a little slow on the uptake but he/she could deal with that. They were coming and he/she needed time and warm lips met warm lips and tongue met tongue and she wasn't half bad at kissing._

"I love him to bits," Martha said and he knew it was Martha even though he wasn't himself and he tell the girl he didn't remember but it was a lie, a pretty little lie to make Martha forget and keep her away.

Rose gasped and the Doctor paled and they looked at each other.

"I'm sorry," he said finally.

"You were in my head." Her voice was quiet but with an edge of anger. "You were in my head and you didn't even ask."

"I didn't try to do that!" he protested. "And you were in my head!"

She glared at him, properly angry now. "And I saw you kiss her," she snapped back.

"That wasn't a kiss." He was angry as well. "That was a genetic transfer to save the lives of thousands of people!"

"So why'd you enjoy it so much?" She sounded like her mother when she was angry.

"Why'd you shoot that kid?" Bitterness colored his voice far more than he wanted.

She looked like he had just punched her in the stomach. She struggled to keep her breathing steady. He thought for a moment that she was going to slap him. "Not everyone can be you, Doctor." When she spoke her voice was calm and controlled and very quiet. "Not everyone can save the world with a screwdriver. Some of us have to make do with what we have available. I can count on two hands the number of times I have fired that gun at a person in the last six years. I can count on one hand the number of times I have had to kill someone and have fingers to spare." She stood close to him now, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "Did you see how I was sick afterwards? Did you see the nightmares I have? I remember every single time, Doctor. Every. Single. Time."

They were silent.

"I'm going to sleep," she said finally.

He nodded and watched her climb out of the pool. She did not look back. He stood in the water. His shirt was soaked and his pants were uncomfortable, but the sensation was far away. He thought about joining her, about showering and drying off and apologizing, but he decided against it. The image of the gun, of the blood and the boy lying at her feet refused to leave his head. He climbed out of the pool and went to the sitting room. The couch would be uncomfortable, but he'd had worse.  



	3. Revelations

For the first time in over a month, Rose Tyler woke up alone. While the Doctor needed far less sleep than she did, he usually stayed in bed until she rose. She rolled over, expecting to find him sitting against the headboard reading. He wasn't there. Panic rolled through her, and then the adrenaline pushed away the remnants of sleep and she remembered. It would be easier if she was angry. She could push away the sense of emptiness that came with his absence if she held the anger close. She sighed. What good would that do? She was honest enough to admit that she had been in the wrong. She pulled away, used Martha to create the distance she needed because she was scared, and then she used his accidental telepathy to cement that distance.

Her fingers clenched around the sheets. There were so many things they never said. Before she came to this universe, back when she traveled with him she accepted it, usually. She didn't like it but she tried to understand. She didn't know if she could do that now, could bite her tongue and just move on. She wasn't half bad at pretending, but it felt too much like lying. The Doctor had tricked her, had kept her in the dark and sent her away, but he never lied to her. He must have had a reason for kissing Martha, even if it was one she didn't immediately understand. "A genetic transfer," he called it. Her lips quirked into an ironic smile. She never heard him refer to their kisses as such.

She rolled out of the bed and wrapped her dressing gown over her jim-jams. The fabric felt nice against her skin, and the color, a deep pink, flattered her complexion. If there was one thing she liked about the parallel universe, it was her clothes. She no longer wore baby pink and blue: being the Vitex heiress required a bit more sophistication than growing up on the Powell Estates had. She picked at the cream lace that lined the collar and cuffs of the dressing gown as she exited the bedroom. He wasn't in the sitting room either, or the bathroom, but a rumpled blanket lay on the couch and a book was on the table. His shoes were missing, but his suit jacket was decorating the back of a chair. She traced the cover of the thin volume lightly; it was The Signalman, by Charles Dickens. A soft smile stole across her face as she remembered the man's surprise when she kissed him on the cheek.

Rose moved to the kitchenette. It was little more than a hot plate, a sink, a microwave, and a mini-fridge, but it would do. She found a kettle stashed in one of the cupboards, filled it with water, and put it on the plate to boil. She made tea often, but especially when she was upset. It was a left-over from her childhood, something her mother did when she had a bad day at school or a fight with a boy. There was something intrinsically calming in the ritual that surrounded the process. The kettle whistled. She poured two mugs.

___________________________________________

She was sitting on the couch, still wrapped in her dressing gown, staring out the picture window in the sitting room that overlooked the grounds and cradling the mug she had designated as hers when the Doctor came back. He was carrying a plain brown paper bag with something inside.

"Good morning." His voice was quiet, but without the air of suppressed anger that had suffused it the day before.

"Morning," she replied, and moved to one side of the couch so he could sit, if he so chose.

He did. "Some for me?" he asked, nodding at the tea. She pointed to the other mug, resting on a coaster on the table next to his book. He set the brown bag on the table in front of her and picked up the mug. He blew on the liquid to cool it, and sipped it with a hum of appreciation. They sat in silence for a while, sipping and studying the landscape. He set down the mug, opened the sack, and pulled out a paper-wrapped bundle. Rose raised an eyebrow.

He opened the paper and handed her a slice of a cake or bread, something heavy and moist. "Banana bread," he explained. "Saw a stand on the way up here, fresh bread and fruit and stuff." He reached back into the sack and deposited three apples and a single pear, for her sake, on the table.

She nibbled on the bread and watched him. He looked tired. His hair stood up in all directions and his suit was rumpled, like he'd slept in it. The silence stretched out between them.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Rose–"

It was the tone, the weariness in his voice that wrenched at her. "'M sorry," she murmured. She hated fighting with him, hated seeing him look so lost. She took a breath and started again. "I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to expect you to spill everything when I haven't, when I wasn't willing to myself."

He reached out a hand and cupped her face like he'd done the last time—when she'd almost ended the universe by trying to save her father. He smiled at her gently. "Nine hundred years and change, me," he replied, "and I'm still no good at this."

"You're good at everything," she said reflexively, quoting one of his frequent assertions.

He shook his head. "No I'm not. D'you remember what I told you when we first met?"

"Run?"

He chuckled. "After that. When we were tracing the Nestene consciousness and you kept moaning about Mickey."

She nodded. "You said you 'don't do domestic.'"

"I didn't for almost nine hundred years. When I traveled I wasn't looking to fall in love. It helped that most of my earlier regenerations were crotchety old men." He grinned wryly. "I was trying too hard to be mature and wise and serious. And then…" his voice trailed off and he paused for a moment, collecting himself. "And then the Time War happened. Amazing what being the last of your species can do for your outlook on life." Bitterness tinged his words. Rose took his hand and laced her fingers through his. "But then I met you. I was broken, and angry, and completely alone, and you pulled me out of the darkness and glued me back together. I didn't 'do domestic' because I was afraid." When he met her gaze his eyes were dark with remembered pain. "I was afraid that if I let myself love you, if I acknowledged it, that you would be ripped away from me. This," he gestured with his free hand at the room around them, "this is something I never thought I could have. And I'm still getting used to it." He leaned back against the couch and sighed. "Stopping the Empress of the Racnoss from taking over the world? Easy. Facing down a fleet of Daleks? Piece of cake. Being human?" He paused. "Now that's hard."

She sighed. He released her hand and wrapped his arms around her. She laid her cheek against his chest. "When did you meet Martha?" she asked.

"Three months after the beach," he replied. "And I was serious, Rose. That wasn't a kiss, it was a genetic transfer. The Judoon–space police that look a bit like rhinos," he clarified.

Rose nodded. "I've worked with them before."

He wanted to be surprised, but he wasn't. "They were looking for a plasmavore–internal shape-shifter. She drank the blood and mimicked the biology of a human. I needed time so I could find her, before they decided that the hospital was guilty of harboring a fugitive and destroyed it. The Judoon used this scan to separate human from non-human, but she could trick it if she drank human blood. Kissing Martha left traces of my genetics on her face–forced the Judoon to do a full scan and let me trick the plasmavore into drinking my blood, mimicking my distinctly inhuman genetics." He sounded a bit smug, but his face remained serious.

Rose nodded. "Clever."

"I thought so myself." They were silent.

"She loved you," Rose said after a moment.

"Yes."

"Did you love her?" The question was soft and hesitant and the Doctor could feel her tense as she asked.

"Not like she wanted me to." He stroked her hair with one hand. "I love you now, Rose, and I loved you then. I told her when she started traveling with me that she wasn't replacing you. No one could replace you, and when she realized that I really couldn't give her what she wanted she left."

"Did you travel with anyone else?"

"Besides Martha and Donna?" She nodded. He shook his head. "No. I knocked about on my own for a bit. Didn't want anyone else with me, tried to pretend I didn't need someone with me." He sighed. "I was wrong. Donna called it, when I took her home. Said I need someone to stop me, sometimes."

"So you met Donna after Martha?" Rose asked, trying to work out a timeline in her head.

"No, actually. I met Donna first."

"When?"

He looked away. "Just after the message cut out in Norway. I looked up and she was standing in the TARDIS."

"But you were in orbit around a supernova." Rose's forehead wrinkled as she frowned in confusion.

He gestured vaguely. "The Empress of the Racnoss–kind of like giant omnivorous spider-people, dosed her with Huon particles. The TARDIS has Huon particles, and when the particles activated they pulled her in. Was quite a shock." He smiled sadly. "She slapped me twice. Thought I gallivanted around kidnapping women."

Rose laughed. "I'm glad he has Donna. She won't let him get away with anything."

The Doctor was silent. His face was drawn and his eyes were closed.

Rose pulled away a bit. "Doctor." He did not respond. "Doctor, what's wrong?" He was silent. She grabbed his chin lightly and turned his face so he was looking at her, or he would be if he opened his eyes. "Doctor. What. Is. Wrong."

He stared at her for a moment. "I'm sorry, Rose," he said slowly. "Donna's gone."

She blinked. "Gone? What do you mean, gone? She said–"

"It's my fault." His voice was flat and bleak. "The metacrisis–she had a Time Lord consciousness in a human body. Humans use so little of their brain…Time Lords use far more, and she couldn't sustain it. Not safely."

"What are you saying?" Confusion and worry made her voice sharp.

"Donna isn't with him anymore. He, he would have wiped her memory. Everything she saw, everything they did, every memory of him. If she remembers, even once, she'll die. She'll burn up from the inside out."

Rose stared at him. He could see the ideas coming together, connecting. "You knew." It was an accusation. "On the beach, when he left, you both knew." He nodded. He wanted to speak but he felt like something had a vice-grip around his neck. "You knew," she was almost shouting now, "and you never said! You tricked me! Were you going to tell me at all? What is it with you two and making decisions? Did it never occur to either of you that I should have a say in what goes on in my own life?"

"Rose–"

"No!" She moved away from him, her arms clenched tight around her. She slid off the couch and stood, still staring at him. He froze. They stayed like that for a while, breathing, waiting. "Are you going to…burn?" she asked finally. "Am I going to come home one day and find you dead on the floor? Or slouched over your desk at the office?"

He pushed himself off the couch and pulled her into his arms. She was shaking. He laid his head on top of hers. "No, Rose. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm–less human than Donna. I would know," he assured her, "if there was anything off and there's not. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I wanted to but," he sighed. "I was afraid. I love you, Rose, as much as he does and ever did. And in the most important ways, I am him, but I was afraid that you would feel differently. I've got no TARDIS, no sonic screwdriver, no psychic paper, and one heart. It isn't a difficult choice, if you think about it," his voice had turned bitter. She didn't reply. He held her close as he waited for the shaking to stop.

After a moment she pulled back from him and wiped her face with the sleeve of her dressing gown. "He's all alone, then." Her voice was rough. The Doctor nodded. His chest was tight, like something very heavy was pressing into it, constricting his lungs, making breathing difficult and speech impossible. "Why? Why does he keep sending me away?"

"It didn't used to end like this." His voice was soft. His hands hung by his sides and they itched to hold her again, to smooth her hair and tell her with touch what he couldn't express in words. "After they left they had good lives, but then," he paused, as if gathering strength. "Then I destroyed your life and you were taken from me. I turned Martha into a soldier and was responsible for her family being tortured for a year. And Donna," his voice broke, "I killed her. Pressed the reset button. And she was amazing. Everywhere I go I bring misery and pain and death to everyone who knows me."

Rose wrapped her arms around him and hugged him fiercely. "Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me."

"But how could he look at you without thinking of the next time you would be lost?" The Doctor stroked her hair. He was crying, he knew it but he couldn't stop it. When was the last time he cried? "He was always going to lose you, Rose. If you survived traveling with him then time would take you away and he would be alone again. It was easier to let you go, to know that you would be with someone who would love you with everything they had, to know that you would be safe instead of waiting for something to tear you away from him."

"You can't keep me safe." He tightened his grip around her. "You can't." Her voice was louder. "Not unless you chain me to the bed, and then I wouldn't be happy."

He sighed as he rested his cheek against the top of her head. "I know. But at least my forever is the same as yours." They stood for a moment, holding each other, listening to their hearts beat in sync. She wiped her face on her dressing gown sleeve again, and then dabbed at his eyes.

"I don't think I've ever seen you cry."

"I don't do it often." His voice was harsh with emotion. "The Time Lords prized control and detachment above just about anything." He took a deep breath, and sank into the couch. She followed and kept her arms around him. "What happened with that boy?" he asked finally.

She was silent for a while. "It was one of my earlier jumps," she began. "I was in what used to be London. There was a war, a nuclear war, and the whole world burned. The society that came after was awful. They took children from the street, gave them a weapon and a little training, and made them fight for sport. The winner–the last one alive–got a thousand credits and their freedom." There was steel in her voice and a great deal of anger, thankfully not directed at him this time, but at what she had seen. "The jump's coordinates were off and I ended up in the middle of it all, in the arena. I tried to get them to stop, but they thought I was from the government, that I was trying to trick them. I saw that boy cut down three others before he turned on me. So I shot him, and I won. And then I took down the government, because any organization that forced kids to fight didn't deserve to exist." The determination in her voice brought a smile to his face. His Rose, always defending those who couldn't.

"I'm sorry for assuming," he offered.

She shook her head against his chest. "S alright. You only got a glimpse, same as me. 'S easy to jump to conclusions if you don't have all the facts." She ran her nails lightly along his arm, up and down. He sighed and relaxed against her touch. "It wasn't all bad," she said after a moment. "I saw some incredible things, beautiful things. I met brilliant people." She smiled at him. "Met ten or twelve versions of the Brigadier. Met a couple versions of Jack."

"But never another Doctor." It was a statement, not a question.

She shook her head. "No. Every universe I saw that had a Doctor once lost him in the Time War." Her voice was soft. "I'm sorry."

He gave her a lopsided smile. "I'm used to being unique."

"I don't think the universe could handle two of you.

He looked greatly offended and she laughed. The tension melted out of the room. He stretched his arms over his head and arched his back. "Well then, why don't we do what we've been sent to do?" She raised an eyebrow. "Fancy a bit of investigation, Ms. Tyler?"

Rose smiled, her tongue caught between her teeth. "I think I do, Mr. Smith."


	4. Not What it Seems

Toshiko Santo glanced at the clock at the bottom of one of the two large screens that occupied her field of vision. She sighed as she realized that she had missed dinner. The reconnaissance mission was not going well. She and Martha had been watching the screens, one for Rose's barrette and one for the Doctor's tie pin, since mid-morning, when the two had ventured out into the spa. A small picture interposed on a corner of the larger video detailed energy readings from the devices they carried. Dominic was nearby, just in case. Although Rose had protested that she and the Doctor were perfectly capable, and Tosh had no doubt that they were, she was still glad that Pete decided a bit of backup couldn't hurt.

"Here you are." Martha handed Tosh a warm paper cup. She sniffed; it was coffee.

"Thanks," she said and sipped. It was good. How did Martha know how she liked her coffee?

"Rose's secretary, Florence," the other woman answered her unspoken question. "She's got a list tacked up by the phone with everyone's coffee orders on it." Martha grinned. "Even mine."

"Florence is amazing," Tosh agreed.

"Anything interesting happen since I left?"

She shook her head. Martha stared at the screen for a while. "You've worked with Rose for a long time, yeah?"

Tosh gave her a measuring look. "A while, yes. Why?"

Martha shrugged. "When that sickness happened the Doctor was telling a story about parallel worlds and time travel and changing his face–dying and not dying. I was hoping maybe you'd be able to tell me if it's true."

She considered the other woman. She liked Martha, she really did. She was intelligent and competent and funny, but Toshiko hesitated. "It's not really my story to tell."

Martha leaned back in her chair. "Sounds a bit science fiction to me, anyway."

She laughed. "I study alien technology and try to reverse engineer it, you study human and alien biology, and we work for a secret government organization that was founded to protect the Earth from any extra-terrestrial threat. Our lives are a bit science fiction."

Martha grinned. "Okay, okay. Point taken. But still, if you had to classify the two of them," she jutted her chin at the screens. "What do you think?"

Toshiko stared at the screens, her eyes distant.

___________________________________________

_It was late, very late according to the watch on her wrist. She sighed. No matter. There was no one waiting for her to come home. She gathered the papers in front of her into a tidy stack and stood, giving the piece of machinery sitting on her desk a parting glare before she locked the door and stepped into the elevator. A familiar unease settled into her stomach as she waited for the doors to open. She'd been working at Torchwood for almost three months and dealing with other people still made her nervous. They were friendly enough, but every time she saw them she remembered the prison. She was trapped, just not by bars. Her employment was part of the agreement surrounding her release, and although they had been surprisingly kind to her so far, she couldn't help but wonder when the other shoe would drop, when she would be thrust back into a cell._

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. The night secretary, Toshiko couldn't remember her name, was sitting behind the desk doing something with the computer that involved a great deal of swearing. Tosh cleared her throat. The woman looked up.

"I have papers for Rose Tyler."

The other woman raised an eyebrow, and then motioned to the door. "Might as well give them to her yourself; she's still here."

That didn't make sense, she thought as she tried to remember the way to her supervisor's office. She'd only been there a couple times before. She realized as she arrived that the light was on–the only one on the floor besides the gateroom. She knocked on the door.

"Come in." A voice floated out from behind the wood. Tosh stepped into the office and closed the door behind her. Rose Tyler was sitting behind her large desk. Papers were scattered over every inch of the wooden surface. She looked tired and something else, almost like she'd been crying. A picture frame lay on the desk in front of her. She held something attached to a chain around her neck in her right hand, and a mug in her left. "Why haven't you gone home?" She sounded surprised. "Everyone else left hours ago."

Tosh held out the papers. "I wanted to finish." As she drew closer the warm, herbal smell of tea suffused the air around her. "I didn't know you drank tea." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She tensed.

Rose smiled. "I'm British, of course I drink tea."

"I-I mean, I've only seen you drink coffee," she stammered.

"Coffee is for waking up, tea is for relaxing." The other woman motioned to the chair in front of her. "Have a seat. Would you like a cup?" Tosh nodded. Rose poured her another mug. "My mum loves tea. She thinks it'll fix anything." She chuckled. They sat in silence for a moment, sipping the warm drink. "What's on your mind?" Rose asked finally. Tosh blinked at her. "You never do anything without a reason, and you're not a chatterer. So what is it?"

"You never told me why you did it." Rose looked at her steadily. "Why you took me out of that cell. You could have worked with UNIT. They've got people who are at least as brilliant as I am," she elaborated.

Rose leaned back in her chair. "I don't get along so well with UNIT," she said finally. "They're good people, but a bit too military for me. And they definitely wouldn't agree with what I'm trying to do. Best case scenario, they'd appropriate the Dimension Cannon and use it as they see fit." Her fingers tightened around the object in her right hand. "I've seen what happens when people play with technology they don't understand, can't hope to understand. It isn't pretty." She smiled at Tosh. "Besides, you didn't belong there."

"I stole government property and aided a known terrorist," the other woman pointed out.

"You were protecting someone you love. I know a bit about that." They were silent. "You've read the theory," Rose went on. "You've examined and corrected the plans. You know that if this device malfunctions there's a chance it could rip apart the universe." She raised an eyebrow. "Between the two of us, I think my actions have the potential for greater harm than yours."

"Is it worth it?" Something about this woman made her bold. Perhaps it was the tea, perhaps it was that they were alone, or perhaps it was that she too remained when everyone else went home. Surely someone was waiting for her. Tosh knew about her family–about her father and her mother and her little brother. Wouldn't they miss her?

Rose released the object she was holding–a key of some sort–picked up the picture frame, and held it out to Tosh. She took it. A man's face smiled out at her. He was wearing a brown and blue pin-striped suit and a red paper crown. He had brown hair that stood up in every direction and warm brown eyes. He was handsome, she supposed, but not incredibly so. "His name is the Doctor," Rose said quietly. "And he is most definitely worth it."

___________________________________________

"Are you sure about this, Rose?" Mickey Smith's voice was quiet, but pleading.

She nodded. "I have to, Mickey. I need to go home."

He sighed. "Then let's go." He stepped back, leaving Rose in the center of the room. It was early morning, although they couldn't tell in the basement. They were surrounded on six sides by cement deep in the foundation of Canary Wharf. The Dimension Cannon sat against one wall. It had taken two and a half years of studying and trying and retrying, but they finally had a working prototype. Toshiko had been working for Torchwood for almost 18 months, and most of her time centered on the Cannon. She, Mickey, and Jake stepped back against the far wall. Rose stood between them and the Cannon. She checked the device strapped to her wrist and smiled.

"What I wouldn't give for a Vortex Manipulator." Mickey rolled his eyes, but Tosh, and apparently Jake, had no idea what she was talking about. Rose straightened. "Right. See you in hell." She sounded like she was quoting someone, but again only Mickey understood. The two of them spoke their own language of references–usually pop-culture–from their original universe. She nodded goodbye. The Cannon was primed and ready. Tosh took a deep breath and began the initiation sequence. The machine behind Rose hummed. Pressure began to build in the room as the humming increased in pitch and volume. The machine began to shake. Tosh frowned. Something was wrong. Her eyes widened as the screen in front of her began to spike; wavy lines distorted the readings.

"Rose!" she yelled. "Get away!" Frantically she tried to vent the pressure. The other woman glanced back at the machine and the room exploded.

Smoke and the smell of hot metal choked Tosh. She sprawled on her back, thoroughly winded. Breathing hurt; something in her chest tightened and ached as she drew in air. A high-pitched ringing danced in her ears, blocking out all other sound. She sat up and then stood unsteadily, her hand groping for the support of the wall. Jake was dousing the remains of the Dimension Cannon with a fire extinguisher. He was yelling something but she couldn't hear what.

Her eyes were drawn to the limp body on the floor. Rose. Oh god, Rose. She lay on her stomach, her hands splayed out above her head as if she tried to catch herself. Her back looked like raw, tenderized steak and Tosh had to fight not to vomit. She didn't know blood was so red. It soaked Rose's jacket–what was left of it, and dribbled on to the floor. Mickey was shouting into a communicator.

"Medic!" The words came through as if from a dream. "We need a medic down here now!"

___________________________________________

She stood with her back to the Tyler mansion. Jake was leaning against the door while Dominic paced impatiently. Jackie was going to be furious. She had called earlier that day to inform them that they were not to bother Rose until she was ready to return to work. None of them were expecting her to come back. For years she'd been single-mindedly focused on getting to her original universe. When the Dimension Cannon began to work and the stars were going out they said goodbye, and she looked happy. Why was she here?

The SUV's tires crunched against the white gravel of the driveway. It came to a stop just in front of them. Jackie glared at them as she got out, but Pete took her hand and she said nothing. Tony bounded out, free from his car seat, and behind him Rose exited the car slowly. A man followed her, and Tosh blinked in surprise and confusion. It was the man from the photograph. It was the Doctor. But Rose looked a far cry from what Tosh expected. She looked tired, and sad, and confused. She spent three years trying to get back to him, where was the joy, the excitement?

They surrounded her. Dominic pelted her with questions, but Tosh was content to watch. The Doctor was speaking to Jake, but his eyes drifted to Rose. He looked awkward, out of place. He stood slightly apart, as if he was unsure where he fit. She noticed that although Rose answered Dominic, her eyes found the Doctor's. She smiled.

___________________________________________

Funerals were always hard. Thankfully it was rare for Torchwood to lose an agent, but the sickness left no one unscathed. She hadn't been close to many of those who died but they were her coworkers and she wanted to be there. The sky was overcast, and Tosh was grateful. She hated when it was bright and sunny–it seemed wrong, unfitting. Rose and the Doctor stood in front of her, their eyes on the casket that was being slowly lowered into the ground. She leaned into him unconsciously and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She was pale. She had only just recovered from her own battle with the sickness. The Doctor tried to tell her its proper name once, but she couldn't pronounce it, so the sickness it remained. She watched them draw support from each other, and comfort.

___________________________________________

"Earth to Tosh, hello, anyone there?" She blinked as Martha waved a hand in front of her face. "Did you hear what I said?"

Tosh turned her eyes back to the screen. "I think," she said slowly, "I think it's a love story. I think it stretches over two universes and hundreds of years. I think I'll never understand half the things they say and do." She smiled. "I think it's fantastic."

They were silent for a while. Tosh studied the video feed from Rose and the Doctor and Martha sipped her coffee, lost in thought. It sounded so cliché–a love story. Did anyone believe in love stories anymore? She loved Tom, but theirs was a normal courtship: coffee, movies, nights at the pub. She knew from her experiences so far that normal didn't describe anyone who worked for Torchwood. Tosh seemed levelheaded, and Martha supposed that if the other woman believed the Doctor, then she should as well.

"Hold on a tic." Tosh sounded confused. "What's he doing?"

Martha glanced at the screens and frowned. Rose was apparently talking to another couple who were staying at the spa. The Doctor had found his way into one of the employees-only areas. He was muttering something about elevators and keys and people having no imagination. "Just once I'd like to see a secret stairwell." Martha and Tosh looked at each other, obviously missing the reference. He pulled out a metal cylinder that was approximately as long as, and a little wider than, a pencil. A blue light flickered at one end as he twisted one of the dials that ran around the other. He aimed the blue-light at the keypad next to the elevator. A high-pitched whine filled the room. Martha clapped her hands over her ears as Tosh dove for the speakers. She sighed in relief as the noise cut out.

"What was that?" Martha demanded.

Tosh shrugged. "No idea, other than it's some kind of sonic device."

A green light above the keypad flickered on as the tube in the Doctor's hands began to spark. He switched it off and Tosh turned the speakers back on. He sucked on a finger, presumably singed, and regarded the device. "Not quite right, then." The elevator 'dinged' softly and the door slid open. He darted inside. The door slid shut. Tinny music filled the elevator as the Doctor studied the buttons. He finally selected one marked 'lower basement' and made a remark about 'last time,' and 'giant omnivorous spiders.'

"Do you have any idea what he's going on about?" Martha asked. Tosh shook her head.

"Not a clue."

The screen went blank.

"What happened?" Martha looked at her expectantly.

Tosh was typing something incredibly fast. She ran through commands, prompts, traced the connection, and frowned. "Something's interfering with the audiovisual link. We're still getting life readings. He's conscious and doesn't appear to be under stress." She paused. "It could be the foundations of the building blocking the signal. It's finicky sometimes–doesn't like concrete or stone. All the same," she punched out a text to Rose, "best to be on guard, just in case." Martha nodded. It seemed like forever, but they knew it was less than a half hour, before the screen corresponding to the Doctor flickered back into life. Tosh signaled Rose again with his location. She could tell from the answering message that other woman was less than pleased.

"I wouldn't want to be him," she remarked to Martha. "I've been on the end of one of Rose's dressing-downs. It's not pleasant."

___________________________________________

Rose surprised them both of them and herself when she did not immediately slap the Doctor silly while letting him know exactly what she thought of his disappearance. Instead, she waited until they were ensconced in the privacy of their rooms.

"What the hell was that?" she demanded.

He blinked. "What was what?"

She threw her hands out in exasperation. "Very first rule you told me: don't wander off. What happened to that rule? Why did you think that it was okay to jaunt off without me? We're a team, Doctor, and we're in potentially dangerous territory. You could have been captured or killed or who knows what else!" She whirled away from him and began to pace the length of the room.

He straightened his shoulders and grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop and look at him. "Don't take that tone with me, Rose. I'm not some new recruit; I'm not your responsibility. I've been dealing with dangerous situations for hundreds of years before you were born."

She pulled her arm out of his grasp. "Then you should know better." She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "You won't regenerate anymore! If you die, that's it. Dead. Gone. As you're so fond of saying, 'kaput.' And where does that leave me?" Grief, and something that might have been fear, replaced the anger in her voice. "Standing over your casket instead of on that beach? I don't know if I can do that again, Doctor. If I can pick up the pieces and make them into something new. If you glue something back together often enough the original thing disappears and you're left with what held it together."

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. "I'm sorry, Rose. I didn't mean to frighten you."

She pushed away. "I know that you can handle yourself, Doctor, but please, _please,_ try and be a little more careful, yeah?" She swiped at the tears that dripped down her face. He wiped her eyes gently and rested his forehead against hers.

"I'll try," he promised. She smiled and he returned the gesture. "Now, I'm starving, what about you?"

She nodded. "I'll order in, yeah?"

"Yeah." He wandered into the sitting room as she pulled her mobile out of her pocket. The fruit, still sitting on the table, caught his eye. He grinned, plucked the pear off of the wooden surface, and took a large bite.

Rose watched him from the doorway. She frowned at his selection and her eyes widened as he enthusiastically ate the fruit, slurping the juice from his fingers as he went. She flipped her phone shut and reached for her purse.

The Doctor heard the rustle of cloth and sharp 'click' announcing that Rose had finished with her task. He turned to face her, smiling, and froze. He was staring down the barrel of a gun. Rose glared at him, the weapon held firmly in both hands. Restrained action was written in the taut lines of her body: the tenseness of her shoulders, the steadiness of her arms, the even measures of her breathing. She was calm as a bomb is calm before it explodes, as a storm is calm before it breaks.

Tosh's hand was shaking as she pressed the intercom. "Pete?"

It crackled. "Tyler here."

"We've got a bit of a problem."


	5. Seeing Double

It seemed to take Pete forever to get to the meeting room where Tosh and Martha sat, metaphorically glued to their screens.

"What is it?" he gasped, slightly out of breath.

Tosh motioned to the screens in front of them. "Rose just pulled her gun on the Doctor."

"She did _what_?"

"She pulled her gun on him and accused him of not being the Doctor," Martha replied.

"Let me see." Obediently they moved back. Pete frowned. "It looks like him. Even sounds like him."

"And from what Rose has said he remembers events from their time together." Martha kept her voice as neutral as possible.

"She's adamant that he's not the Doctor?" The two women nodded. "Send in Dominic."

___________________________________________

"Rose–"

"I am Commander Tyler of the Torchwood Institute, and you will address me as such." She struggled to keep her voice even and quiet. Briefly she thought of Florizel Street and the Wire. Was the Doctor like this when it took her face? Was he like this when she couldn't hold on to the lever at the other Torchwood? Did he feel the same icy combination of rage and terror as he stared at the thing responsible for her pain as she did staring at a facsimile of him? When she found him, she promised herself, he was in for the slap of his life, just as soon as she stopped kissing him. All the times he told her not to wander off, and then he goes and does exactly that, and gets captured to boot!

The not-Doctor kept his hands raised as he leaned forward. Her gun 'clicked' softly as she slid the safety off. "The first thing I said to you, the very first thing, was 'run.'"

"You've got his memories. Not a Slitheen, then. Too skinny for one anyway. What are you?" Rose continued.

"I'm the Doctor." Frustration crept into his tone, or was it fear?

"No you're not, you're really not."

Dominic knocked on the door before he entered. Rose kept her eyes and her gun trained on the not-Doctor as the other agent moved cautiously into the room, his hands loosely at his sides. He was trying to reassure her, she realized, to demonstrate that maybe, just maybe, he didn't think she'd gone 'round the bend.

"Rose, what's going on?" he asked softly.

She jutted her chin at the not-Doctor. "He's an imposter."

He studied the other man. "Are you sure?" She nodded.

"Dominic!" the not-Doctor protested. "It's me, really me. The aliens must have gotten to Rose."

"I was visible at all times," she pointed out. "You disappeared for almost half-an-hour. That's more than enough time to activate a psychograft." Her voice hardened. "Those are banned on sentient planets. Too much time with someone else in their head will kill the host–compress them to death. Is that what you've done? Pulled a 'Cassandra' and shoved yourself in his mind?" He opened his mouth to respond but she cut him off. "No, you've got access to his memories, and he's clever enough and telepathic enough to wall them off from an intruder."

"Why do you think he's an imposter?" Dominic asked.

Rose glared at the other man. "He ate a pear."

"So I like pears!" the not-Doctor said, rolling his eyes.

"The Doctor hates pears. He won't touch 'em, won't even kiss me after I've eaten a pear until I've brushed my teeth, and that was after the meta-crisis, so Donna's got nothing to do with it," Rose snapped. "I know him, Dominic, almost better than I know myself."

"All of your evidence is circumstantial," the not-Doctor pointed out. "How can you be sure I'm not who I say I am? Why does no one believe me?" His expression and tone projected injured innocence, but there seemed to be a hint of desperation buried beneath.

Rose paused, and then a slow smile spread across her face. "In my purse," she said to Dominic, "there's a thing that looks like a flip phone. Pull it out, and scan him."

___________________________________________

He did so. The black box lit up and the smaller picture on Rose's screen began flashing a string of numbers. Tosh whistled. "It's the energy signature we were tracking," she explained. "He's practically dripping with it."

Pete frowned. "So he's been exposed."

Tosh nodded. "Definitely. But it's more than that. He's generating the energy." She highlighted a string of number. "This is the origin location–coordinates that reflect its source, and they correspond with his current location." She paused and glanced up at Pete. "Rose was right. He's not the Doctor."

Dominic pocketed the device and trained his own weapon on the not-Doctor. "What are you?"

The other man, if he was a man, refused to answer. Rose stepped closer. She let her arms fall to her sides, the gun still clasped in her right hand. "Where is the Doctor?"

The imposter regarded her coldly. "Why should I answer you? As soon as you find him you'll kill me."

Her eyes wandered up and down his form, measuring, weighing. "Why would we do that?"

He laughed. It was a harsh sound, without the humor and the seemingly boundless energy that was characteristic of the Doctor. "If you break the link, which you have to in order to get him back, you'll kill me. This is the only life I get, and I'd like to keep it, thanks very much."

She thought of Cassandra, desperately clinging to life, even life as a skin trampoline. She thought of the Doctor's words: Everything dies. "It isn't yours to live," she replied softly. The anger was gone from her voice, replaced by resignation and what sounded like pity, and possibly hope. "But the Doctor, he's clever. He could figure something out, if you let him. He's helped people, thousands of people, maybe millions. He could help you."

"He can't fix everything," the not-Doctor responded shortly. "He can't fix this. If you want him back, you'll have to kill me." He watched her as if he was appraising her. "Could you do it, Rose Tyler? Really? I look like him. I sound like him. I remember everything he does."

"Then you'll remember this." The steel was back in her voice. "It doesn't mean much in this universe, but it means something to the Doctor. I am the Bad Wolf." She leaned in close to him. "And if you've hurt him, then I will be the last thing you ever see."

He grinned at her. It was out of place on the face he wore–there was nothing happy or joyous about it. "That makes you my executioner."

She met his eyes and held them with her own. "I didn't bring you here. I didn't tell you to take this form. If you want to blame someone, blame the people who did. Now." She brought the gun up so it was level with his chest. "We are going to wait for my team to arrive, and then you are going to take me to him."

___________________________________________

Martha and Tosh exchanged worried looks. Rose was firm, and frankly scary, when she was angry--according to Pete she got that from her mother--but the cold fury she aimed at the imposter was shocking. It went against what they knew of her. Fundamentally, she was a warm person. She took interest in the lives of her teammates beyond work. She asked after their families and knew most of them by name, if not sight. It made her an excellent leader. Her people trusted her implicitly because they knew she saw them as human beings.

They had never seen her so angry before.

"Tosh, I'll call Alexis in. She'll be monitoring the situation from here. Jake, and the rest of his people, are on their way here." Pete kept his eyes on the screens. "You and Martha head over to Rose and Dominic."

"Is that wise sir?" Tosh asked. "I'm more familiar with this technology than Alexis."

Pete shook his head. "They'll need you more in the field. Whatever technology they're using, if the Doctor's out then you're our best shot at understanding it." She nodded. "And Martha, he may be injured."

"I know," she acknowledged, and they left.

___________________________________________

Rose was never very good at waiting, and the knowledge that the Doctor could very well be in danger did not make the situation any easier. She paced the room. Dominic stood by the imposter, who was tied to a chair, with his gun at the ready. The not-Doctor made no move the escape, nor did he appear concerned at all. He watched Rose move around the room, his face an unreadable mask.

"Is it always like this?" he asked, "waiting to die, I mean."

Dominic frowned. Rose stopped pacing and turned to face him. "I know what memory you're using." Her voice was even and detached. "It won't work."

"It worked for her," the not-Doctor pointed out. "He couldn't see beyond his own guilt, couldn't work out her plan. She had the TARDIS open before he had any idea how dangerous she was."

"I'm not him, this isn't Cardiff, and you're not a Slitheen bent on destroying the world to catch a lift."

"But he believes in you." Rose stiffened slightly. "Said it himself: if he had to pick one thing, just one thing to put his faith in, he'd pick you." The imposter tilted his head to one side. "Wonder what he'd think now. He put you on a pedestal, and here you are down in the dirt, gun and all." Rose laughed. It wasn't the reaction her prisoner was looking for. He frowned. "What's so funny?"

"He already knows. Look at the rest of the memory. While he was in the pit on that impossible planet facing the thing that called itself the Devil, I was on a rocket. He faced the body, I faced the mind. And I killed a man, because he was possessed, because the beast warped him into a vessel, but he was still a person, a boy, only a few years older than me. I killed him, because it was that or let him loose on the universe." She sighed. "I'm sorry, I really am, but the people or aliens who made you are messing with the Earth and they need to learn a very important lesson about the Earth."

"Oh?"

She nodded. "It is defended."

___________________________________________

Martha was silent on the drive to the spa. The handgun at her side seemed incredibly heavy in its holster. Although she had completed the requisite field training, including learning how to use several different kinds of firearms, she was still uncomfortable with the thought of turning her gun on a living being. She was a doctor, and her job was to heal, not kill. She was also a Torchwood agent, with all that the title entailed. She frowned as she struggled with the thoughts. She hadn't really considered the duality of her job when she accepted the position. Of course, life is never simple. In the driver's seat, Tosh's lips were a thin line on her face and Martha noticed that she was gripping the steering wheel tighter than strictly necessary.

It was a relief when they finally reached the spa. Normally Martha would have paused to take in the surroundings, but the situation was too volatile to allow curiosity to delay them. Rose buzzed them through the doors and they walked nonchalantly through the halls. Martha itched to pick up the pace, but she knew that would alert their adversaries and possibly put the other patrons in danger.

It seemed like ages before they reached Rose and the Doctor's rooms. They tapped out the code knock and entered. Rose and Dominic greeted them with terse nods. The not-Doctor regarded them coolly. "Are you going to kill me now?" Tosh said nothing, but Martha blanched.

"Leave them alone," Rose said wearily. "If you're going to throw vitriol, toss it at me. I'm their commander."

"What next?" Dominic asked before the not-Doctor could continue his taunts.

She leaned against the wall and regarded her team with a gleam of mischief in her eyes. "I was thinking we pull an Adler."

Tosh and Dominic nodded, but Martha looked confused. "Sorry, what?"

"We pull the fire alarm," Dominic explained. "Rose calls it an 'Adler' because she reads too much."

"Oi!" their leader protested. "Sherlock Holmes is a classic!"

Martha was still confused. "But what does pulling the fire alarm have to do with Sherlock Holmes?"

"Have you read the books?"

She shook her head. Rose sighed. "Philistines, you lot. Of course, the Doctor got me into them as he identifies with the brilliant detective." She snorted. "He would. Anyway, there's a story about a woman named Irene Adler. She's got this picture of her with the King of Bohemia, and it's just a bit compromising. Sherlock's tryin' to get it back for the King, and he figures out where she's keepin' it by making her think her house is on fire. People go for what's most important when their world's disappearing around them. And in this case, I'm willing to bet that the other imposters–or whatever they are–will head straight for their operation if the alarm goes off."

"Conveniently bringing them all together and making it much easier to capture them and getting the civilians out of our way," Dominic continued.

Rose pushed herself upright off the wall. "Right. We should get there first." She strode over to the chair and pulled out a small, sharp knife. "I'm going to release you," she addressed the not-Doctor, "but any funny business and you'll find out how much living hurts."

"Promises, promises," the thing replied. "Still don't think you'd do it." He stood when she was finished and stretched. Rose held out her hand. He raised an eyebrow.

"Hand over the sonic screwdriver."

"The what?"

She glared at him. "It's in your coat pocket on the left side–my left, your right." He sighed and procured the strange metal cylinder along with a yoyo, a pack of gum, three screws, and a sugar packet. She examined the device closely before she pocketed it. "Lead on."

___________________________________________

The walk to the service elevator was tense, mostly because they had to pretend it wasn't. The others looked perfectly relaxed, but Martha felt like she had a huge sign over her head saying something along the lines of 'SUSPICIOUS BEHAVIOR.' They encountered a few patrons and workers, but no one gave them a second glance as they wandered apparently aimlessly through the corridors. Rose held the not-Doctor's hand, possibly out of habit, more probably because she wanted to be close enough to restrain him if necessary.

She fiddled with the sonic screwdriver–whatever that was–for a few moments before she found the proper setting once they were in the elevator. They were silent as the lift descended. The doors opened on a hallway. Dominic went first, his gun ready. He gestured for the others to follow. It was empty. A single door was set into the opposite end. It looked like a normal door, except for the elaborate locking mechanism next to the handle. Rose crouched next to it and fiddled with the sonic screwdriver again. The mechanism sparked, and then released.

"That is dead handy," Dominic commented. Tosh nodded.

"Wouldn't mind having one of those the next time we need to break in somewhere."

"That happens a lot?" Martha enquired.

Tosh snorted. "You wouldn't believe how often."

Dominic nudged the not-Doctor forward. "Let's go."

___________________________________________

Whatever she had expected, Martha realized, it wasn't what they found beyond the doors. The room was long and narrow, with a white tile floor and a low white ceiling. Rows of beds took up most of the space and against the far wall a computer tower and monitor sat on a shabby desk. It looked like a hospital ward. About half of the beds were occupied. As Martha drew nearer to them she noticed that the devices were not at all like ordinary hospital beds. They looked more like slated operating tables–cold and uncomfortable. A band of metal ran around each person's forehead. Wires and tubes connected the metal band to some sort of apparatus at the head of each bed.

"Dominic, tie him down. Martha, Tosh, sweep the room. I'll find the Doctor." They went about their respective tasks silently and efficiently.

"The room is clear," Tosh called. "No explosives."

"Our 'friend' is secure," Dominic noted. Rose nodded an acknowledgement to both of them as she methodically worked her way through the patients.

She held up her hand and beckoned Martha and Tosh to one of the beds. "It's him."

The Doctor, like the rest of the people in the beds, was wearing something that looked like a hospital gown. Tosh began examining the equipment while Martha checked his pulse. She pulled back an eyelid and shone her small flashlight on him. The pupil contracted.

"His heart is fine and there's no sign of a stroke or concussion." She let the eyelid fall. Beneath his lids his eyes twitched. "He appears to be asleep, I'd say in the REM part of his sleep cycle."

"We need to break the connection in order to get him back," Rose supplied. "That's what he said." She turned to Tosh. "Any ideas?"

Tosh chewed on her bottom lip. "This appears to be the power source. The machine doesn't seem to be functioning as life support in any way–he isn't injured and his unconscious state is being manufactured, correct?" Martha nodded. "Then," the other woman continued, "we should be able to disconnect the device from its power supply without risking physical or neural damage."

"So, basically you're going to pull the plug." Tosh nodded. "Do it. And Dominic, get ready to pull the fire alarm." He nodded.

Tosh reached behind the device and toggled a switch. The pulsing purple light that had been shining through the clear plastic tubes attached to the metal band around the Doctor's temples flickered out. The not-Doctor groaned as the Doctor's eyes fluttered open. Tosh and Martha stepped back, allowing him and Rose what little privacy could be had in the open room. He blinked and tried to sit up, but the wires prevented him. With a noise of irritation he yanked the metal band off and swung his feet over the edge of the strange bed.

"Well now, that took you long enough!" He sounded rather put-out.

Rose raised an eyebrow. "If you didn't wander off and get caught by the alien-clone thingies we wouldn't have had to rescue you!"

He coughed. "Yes, right. Well."

Rose hugged him fiercely. "Don't you do that again," she murmured into his shirt. He rested his head on top of hers and wrapped his arms around her.

"I'll try not to."

She snorted. "Right. Now, Dominic, time for the fun to start!"

The other man grinned, and yanked one of the fire alarms. An ear-splitting siren filled the air. The Doctor blinked. "How is that helpful?"

"We'll catch all of the imposters that are here, and the civilians will be safely out of the building." Tosh explained. "Torchwood will keep the signal from actually summoning the fire department or police. Really, that's the last thing we need–more people who think they're in control."

"Sensible," he conceded, and then the computer caught his eye. "Hello there! What's this then?"

"Martha, Tosh, Dominic, keep an eye out for more imposters," Rose directed before she joined the Doctor by the computer. "No idea, we haven't had a chance to check it out yet."

The Doctor patted the gown, and then realized he wasn't wearing his suit. "Rose–" She put the sonic in his hand. He grinned. "Just like old times."

"Just like old times."

They caught three more imposters; each one corresponded to a body in a bed. Dominic tied them down while the Doctor worked on hacking into the computer.

"Seems silly to use a computer when they have access to much more advanced technology," Martha commented.

"Ah, but there's the catch," the Doctor replied. "If they used something too advanced there's a chance it would be recognized, and you can bet they don't want that. Computers are sophisticated enough for rudimentary communication and they blend in." He fiddled with the sonic and was rewarded with a series of windows opening on the screen. "Now, these four are workers. They're useful and very efficient, but not for the planning. They're best at infiltration. The look, sound, and act almost just like the person they're copying, and they have access to necessary memories." He frowned. "The Sontarans used this technology when they tried to take over the Earth and turn it into a clone breeding ground, but they only needed one. There's what, two dozen here?"

Tosh nodded.

"Some of them, like the four we caught, are just regular people," Rose noted, "but most of them are important–Members of the Party, business leaders, even a judge."

"Aha!" The Doctor exclaimed, his frown replaced with a grin. "Found it!" The monitor flickered and the desktop background was replaced by an image of three reptilian looking beings. Their mouths moved, but the computer was silent. "Speakers, does this thing have speakers?" Tosh pointed to a black box with a dial on the front. The Doctor turned it up and a sibilant hissing filled the room. He listened intently.

Martha, Tosh, and Dominic looked to Rose, who shrugged. "I'm not familiar with this language."

"Don't give me that!" the Doctor snapped, interrupting them. "This isn't about facilitating trade! This is an invasion, from the top down I'll grant you, but an invasion none-the-less."

"Can they understand you, Doctor?" Tosh was confused.

He pointed to a small metallic box attached at the base of each alien's throat. "Universal translator. They can understand what we're saying, but it doesn't work for us. Has to be wired into the brain." Martha shuddered. It sounded barbaric.

The hissing continued. When the aliens ceased talking, the Doctor drew himself to his full height. The easy smile and manic demeanor were wiped away in an instant. The weight of his years seemed to radiate from him. "I am the Doctor," he addressed the aliens. "And the people around me are part of Torchwood. If you want to deal with the Republic of Great Britain, you go through them. If you want to trade with the rest of the world, you will work with the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce. And if you decide that you'd rather invade again," he crossed his arms and his voice was frigid, "then you will deal with me. This is your one chance. I advise you take it."

The screen flickered again, and then went black. A series of red symbols flashed on the monitor. The Doctor examined them briefly, and then jumped back. "All right, everybody out! Martha, take the sonic and disconnect the rest of the people. Dominic, Tosh, you help her get them up and out of the building!"

"Doctor!" Rose snapped. "What's going on?"

"They're covering their tracks," he explained, "destroying the evidence. All of this tech is about to go 'boom.'"

Her eyes widened. "How long?"

He consulted the monitor again. "Ten minutes."

"Are the lifts working? The stairs don't reach this far!"

"Fire alarm!" Dominic reminded them from across the room.

"Sonic can fix that!" the Doctor called back. "And I can attempt to hack into the countdown, buy us some more time."

Rose nodded. "Do it." She helped the others herd the small crowd of people to the lift as the Doctor's fingers flew across the keyboard. Unfortunately they had to make several trips, wasting precious time. Rose sent the others up with the last of the victims and dashed back into the large room. "Doctor! Time to go!"

He glanced up at the monitor, which had remained impervious to his tampering. "Four minutes left!"

___________________________________________

"You know what that means," she said as they stepped out of the lift.

"Yeah?"

She grabbed his hand. "Run!"


End file.
